[Mithalwen]

Mithalwen reflected that the seeming catastrophe was recovering itself remarkably quickly. Mr Headstrong was positively purring with pleasure at Marigold's delight in his gifts. It was evident that Marigold had suffered no major trauma and was happy in Caity's company under Falco's benevolent eye. Already more people had arrived to distract the inn staff from the incident andfro that she was grateful - though she must make a point of thanking whoever made the poultice.

She curled her long body into the next windowseat, near enough to tend Marigold swiftly if needed but far enough not to have to engaged in conversation with Mr Headstrong - who although he had calmed down, still evidently had no great opinion of her or Snaveling.

She could not blame him. She had arrived as a chance visitor barely 36 hours before and aswell as gate crashing a wedding, she had endangered the life of a hobbit child. Why had she stayed? Aeglos' shoe had been replaced, and he was rested. As for the weather - well she had journeyed in worse before and would do so again. If she were honest with herself she would have to admit, that she had become intrigued by the people she had met here. However her interest was beginning to blend with interference. She began to realise that there might be good reasons why the eldar did not mingle overmuch with mortals.

She sighed and watched a particular raindrop make its course down the pain. She rested her head against the glass and thought of her own home at Mithlond. There she would regard it as a good day to get on with her work. Maybe jsut a walk to blow the cobwebs away. Work... perhaps it mightbe worth starting some if she was not going to get on with her journey directly - not creating from new perhaps but perhaps a few repairs. She had soem money still but baling out snaveling had been an unexpected drain on her resources.

Snaveling! A thought that had been on the edge of her consciousness at the moment that Felarof had bolted, now came clearly into her mind. Felarof was as fine as just about any horse Mithalwen had seen in an age of the world. He would have been noble enough to bear an elf lord and mighty enough to carry even a man of Numenor of old. But Snaveling had made a gift of him. Snaveling whose garments combined shabby finery with borrowed robes, Snaveling who had given the impression he would have gone hungry this day had it not been for her clearing his tab. She herself did not bring all her wealth a journeying admittedly, but it seemed bizarre that a man who could not afford to eat was making such kingly gifts.

Too late, did she remember Snaveling's proximity. She closed her mind and looked up to see him studying her, as he sat in a chair a little way away. She knew he could have read her thought if he had so chosen. He was a dunadan, whether or not he chose to describe himself as thus. But how much had he read of her thought? Maybe he his glance had been prompted by her sudden movement. She sprang to her feet with the pretext of fetching a drink for Marigold. She fetched tea for herself, and forcing herself to seem natural she presented Snaveling with a cup. " Tea, Tar Corondir" , her voice was steady but she was unable to tell from his eyes how much of her mind he had discerned.